And The Children Shall Groove
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Remember the classic Trek episode, AND THE CHILDREN SHALL LEAD? This story is just like that - except the monster controlling the kids is not some fat guy but sexy rock legend Jim Morrison of the doors. Rated T for outrageous teen humor and fun!


AND THE CHILDREN SHALL GROOVE

_I do not own the immortal legends of rock, or the classic crew of the Enterprise. Please comment nicely! _

"Why, you little punk!" Kirk looked down at his gold uniform shirt, and then glared at the tall red-haired boy. "I just – had that shirt – dry-cleaned. The next time you throw ice cream at me I'm gonna beat you like a Dimorphian Drumfish!"

"For God's sake, Jim, he's just a boy." Dr. McCoy gave the children a reassuring look. "Don't mind our captain, he's most likely been affected by the anxiety-causing atmosphere on that strange planet you just came from. Maybe that's what happened to your parents too."

"Parents? What parents?" The oldest of the children was Tommy, the tall red-head who had just thrown his ice cream at Captain Kirk. "We don't remember any parents. We don't have to tell you about no stinking parents!"

"Bones, let me handle this," Kirk said smoothly. "Unless I hear the truth – about what happened – to your parents – there will be no more ice cream cones!"

"Ah, I got your cone right here," Tommy said. He grabbed his crotch and squeezed. "Try it with nuts." The children giggled.

"That does it!" Kirk lunged for Tommy and caught him in a head-lock. In spite of the boy's struggles, the lean and muscular Kirk quickly got the upper hand. It wasn't like him to lose control, but things had been weird lately. And Tommy was a real brat. Luckily for the kid, however, right in the middle of the sickbay beat-down a call came in from the bridge.

"Captain, Spock here. Strange phenomenon appearing on the bridge screen. Request you come at once."

"I'm on it." On the way out the door, Kirk glanced over his shoulder. The red-haired boy was on the floor, sobbing, helpless. "Fix him up, Bones," he said with a shrug. "I just don't know what came over me. Still, a little ass-whipping is always good. A warning – to kids – to respect their elders."

"Yes, Captain." The ship's surgeon replied meekly, but his gentle blue eyes were filled with outrage. Kirk had changed since the strange, orphaned children of Triacus had beamed aboard. The whole crew had changed. Nothing was right.

Up on the bridge, Spock indicated the outlandishly sexy young man sprawled out shirtless on the view screen.

Kirk couldn't place the alien, but knew he was a legend. "Abraham Lincoln?" He asked. "The Greek God Apollo?"

"My name's Jim," said the god-like figure in black leather pants. "Just like yours, man. You wanna beam me up? I've got to, like, cleanse the doors of perception. Break on through to the other side. Try to set the night on fire."

"Fascinating," Spock said. He peered into his glowing monitor. "Evidently a twentieth-century earth poet, Captain. Decadent and cruel, but devastatingly attractive to the young of both sexes. Known to his followers as the Lizard King."

"That's . . . Jim Morrison? The lead singer of the Doors?" Kirk paused, deeply conflicted. "I'd like to party with that guy. But earth history records that he was a real jerk."

Spock hoisted a single Vulcan eyebrow. "May I remind the Captain, we are in no position to beam up unauthorized guests. The highly unstable children of Triacus have been disrupting ship's operations for the past two days."

"Yes, and maybe Mr. Mojo Risin' knows something we don't about what happened to the children's parents." Kirk had been talking in a low undertone to Spock. Now he raised his voice and addressed the sexy rock god on the screen. "Sorry, Jim. We can't take on – any more passengers – at this time. However, my First Officer and I would love to beam down and check out – your show. If you're still performing, that is."

The Lizard King smiled a lazy, drunken smile. "Pretty neat," he said. "Pretty good. Can you beam down in like, twelve earth minutes? If you still measure time in minutes, man."

Instead of the abandoned camp where the children had been found, Kirk and Spock beamed down to a world that was remarkably like Venice Beach, California, circa 1967. They found the club where Jim Morrison was performing, backed up by three lifeless robots.

"Remarkable," Spock said, analyzing the sound. "A uniquely American fusion of poetry, mythology and the blues. And I believe the keyboards player may be a Vulcan. I sense a disciplined intelligence. He supplies the Apollonian logic that is so obviously missing in the Dionysian lead singer."

Kirk ignored the Science Officer's subtle jab. "Notice how Jim closes his eyes while he holds the microphone close," the captain remarked, in a hushed whisper. "That's because he knows how to get chicks. I can dig it, Spock. I can dig it."

Spock looked skeptical. "He may be too drunk to stand up without help. Need I remind the captain that Jim Morrison patterned himself after Dionysus, the Greek god of wine?"

As if to prove the Science Officer's point, the sexy lead singer collapsed on the tiny stage, drooling and convulsing.

"Damn it!" Kirk snapped, rushing the stage. "I can't tell if it's epilepsy, delirium tremens, or a bad acid trip. McCoy should be here, but with those damned kids around . . ." he grabbed Jim's pulse, and found it weak. "We've got no choice, Spock. We have to beam Jim Morrison up to the enterprise."

"Captain, might I remind you that the prime directive . . ."

"Says nothing about rock gods who've been dead for centuries. Kirk to Enterprise. Three to beam up!"

Kirk was glad that he'd brought the other Jim up to the Enterprise. At first. It was awesome to hear "Crystal Ship" and "Soul Kitchen" coming through the ship's speakers late at night, instead of all that horrible warbling by Uhura.

But within a few star days, the captain of the Enterprise began to realize he'd made a mistake. The Lizard King was encouraging the kids to misbehave. They lurked around the corridors, pumping their fists and making crew members behave erratically. And now they had a leader.

"You're all a bunch of f-ing slaves!" Jim shouted, in the crew lounge, when the children had gathered for a game of full contact seven up followed by a hopscotch tournament. "I don't know about you, but I plan on getting my kicks before the whole s-house explodes!"

"That's enough, mister!" Jim Kirk had reached the breaking point. He hated to come down on a guy who reminded him of himself in so many ways. The dynamic allure, the charisma, the Scotch-Irish temperament. But Morrison's rage was unholy, obscene. It reminded Kirk of his own darker self. How very alive he'd felt while beating up on little Tommy.

"What you gonna do, man?" Morrison mocked, wobbling around the room in his black leather outfit, looking drunk and sexy. "Gonna use the ship's phasers on a bunch of kids?"

"Yes, on a bunch of kids." Kirk's rage had almost caused him to go too far, but something about the way Morrison had the kids crowded around like a shield gave him away.

"Listen to me!" Kirk shouted, directing his own dynamic personality directly at the children. "Do you think he's one of you? Do you think he's a glamorous, youthful god?"

"He's the Lizard King," Tommy stated boastfully. "He can do anything."

"Lizard King! Lizard King!" chanted the little kids, in unison.

"These kids are my friends," Morrison crooned, drunkenly. "Soon, we will go to your Star Base, and make even more friends. And the children shall groove. All those who dig our trip will be our friends. Those who do not will be destroyed. They got the guns, but we got the numbers. We want the world and we want it now!"

"We want the world and we want it now!"

"Look at him!" Kirk shouted. "He says he's your friend. Is he a kid like you? Look how drunk he is! He's not only a grown up, he's the worst kind of grown up. Are you drunk all the time? Are you too drunk to stand up? How long before he has a big beer gut? How long before he grows a beard? How long before he's floating face down in someone's bathtub?"

"That's a lie!" Tommy shouted. But they could all see Jim Morrison starting to change. His belly was getting fat. His beard was getting longer and longer. And his voice sounded raspy and worn out.

"Kill the father," he moaned. "F—the mother. Kill the father. Kill the father. F-the mother."

"That's the horrible entity that destroyed your parents!" Kirk cried, pointing the finger like a prosecuting attorney. The kids were horrified. A couple of the little ones started to cry.

"Take it as it comes," Morrison shrugged. His face was bloated, pasty. He tried to unbutton his leather pants and reveal himself, but his belly got in the way. He collapsed on the floor and writhed around for a moment, like a Crawling King Snake. Then he went motionless. After a moment his remains quietly vanished into thin air.

"They're all crying now, Jim," Bones McCoy said quietly. "I guess you knew what you were doing all along. Now the healing can begin."

"Captain, I never will understand earth men," Spock said, a few days later. The ship had been cleaned up after Morrison threw up all over everything, and the children were undergoing intensive counseling combined with medication. "You knew all along that Morrison was the source of the children's bratty attitude, yet you insisted on beaming down to his territory, and then on beaming him directly aboard."

Kirk shrugged, back in his favorite chair on the bridge. "I always wanted – to see the Doors – do their thing live, Mr. Spock. Say what you want about Jim Morrison, he was a rock and roll legend. Four centuries haven't changed that."

Spock lifted a thoughtful Vulcan eyebrow. "Perhaps in the end, only the truly dark emotions make rock and roll possible. All the great rock legends seem to have been exceptionally bad men. Elvis, Morrison, Cobain, Chang-twang Lee . . . the only exception might be Bono. But on Vulcan, he's regarded as something of a pussy."

Dr. Leonard McCoy flared up at once. "Spock, you obviously have no appreciation for the achievements of Bono. Or Bruce Springsteen. Or James Taylor, or Jackson Browne, or Dusty Springfield or Elton John or Pat Boone or . . ."

"Warp Three, Mr. Sulu," Jim Kirk called out. "I have a feeling this argument is going to go on for a very long time!"


End file.
